


The Liberator, Vol. I: A Passing Hero

by kjack89



Series: The Liberator: The Heart Becomes Heroic [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Identity, Superheroes, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: With crime and corruption on the rise throughout the city, Enjolras, a prosecutor with the DA's office, would be discouraged if not for the efforts of a masked vigilante named the Liberator. What he doesn't know is that the Liberator is the secret identity of a certain dark-haired cynic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [lotaire](https://tmblr.co/mLDx6vdxOsW5roJbEanobLg), who requested an ExR superhero AU. Called “Vol. I” because I couldn’t quite fit everything from the prompt in (mainly the happy ending), which means at some point, a second volume will be required. (Also because, like, comic books. And such.)
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos.

“Not guilty.”  


Long after the verdict had been read and the courtroom cleared, the two words still seemed to hang in the air just as Enjolras still sat at the prosecution table, stunned. Slowly, he packed his papers into his briefcase and stood, ready to begin the long walk out of the courtroom. He paused to frown at the figure still seated in the back, fast asleep. “I can’t wait to see your sketches from today,” he said, a little loudly, and even managed a smile when the court artist woke up with a start.

“Oh, is it over already?” Grantaire asked, stretching and yawning. “I mean, I didn’t expect it to last long. It’s not like there was a solid case.”

“Excuse me?” Enjolras said coldly.

Grantaire smiled at him. “Don’t take it like that,” he said, standing and following Enjolras out of the courtroom. “It’s not your fault that you weren’t given much more than circumstantial evidence to work with, and it’s pretty hard to get a conviction these days.”

Enjolras snorted. “You’re telling me,” he said, running a tired hand through his hair. “I swear, these days it seems like the bad guys just keep winning, and the District Attorney’s office doesn’t have the resources to keep up with the volume of crime.” He smiled slightly. “But at least we have the Liberator on our side. Maybe he’ll bring this guy to justice as well.”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “I’m not sure you can call what the Liberator does ‘justice’,” he said, almost reluctantly. “I mean, he’s killed people. You’re an officer of the court -- surely you don’t want a murderer to escape justice of his own.”

“I don’t think it’s as black and white as that,” Enjolras said, his conviction clear in his voice. “Our legal system is currently broken -- there’s too much corruption from the top down to truly bring some very dangerous people to justice, to get them off the streets.” He shook his head. “Obviously I don’t condone killing anyone, but we’re talking about rapists and human traffickers and murderers, not petty thieves or vandals or anything like that. With these people left on the streets, more innocent people will get hurt, and criminals are emboldened.” Enjolras shot a sideways look at Grantaire, his tone turning curt. “Of course, given your lack of convictions, I’m not surprised that you don’t share my view.”

Grantaire shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t share your view, I’m just not thrilled about one person playing judge and jury. It’s too much power for one person, especially a vigilante that the public knows nothing about.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “I know he’s a good man,” he said simply. “I don’t need to know much more.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue, but he settled instead for winking at Enjolras. “If I had known that all it took to get you hot and bothered was being a vigilante dressed in a leotard, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

Enjolras scowled at him. “Putting you in a costume wouldn’t change the fundamental things we disagree on. And being a superhero would require you to actually care.”

“Oh, so now you’re saying the Liberator is a superhero?” Grantaire asked, laughing slightly.

“No,” Enjolras said shortly. “But you would have to be to get me even remotely hot and bothered.”

With that, he left, walking in the direction of his office and leaving Grantaire staring after him, something like resignation in his expression.

* * *

“Honey, I’m home,” Grantaire called, dropping his bag on the floor next to the couch before collapsing against the worn cushions. “Did you get my suit ironed?”

Combeferre leaned back in his computer chair, sipping from a mug of tea. “For the eighteen-thousandth time, don’t call me honey,” he said calmly. “And I don’t do your laundry, asshole, ironing included.”

Grantaire yawned widely. “Someone’s in a bad mood,” he said, rolling over and squinting at the computer screen. “Tracking bad guys not going well?”

“Hardly. I tracked Le Cabuc’s movements all the way from the courthouse. He’s at a bar on 5th Street with known Patron-Minette ties and has been for awhile. I can’t imagine him leaving anytime soon.” Combeferre picked up his cellhpone and looked at Grantaire accusingly. “I got a text from Enjolras.”

Sighing, Grantaire leaned back and closed his eyes. “Then I understand your bad mood,” he said sourly. “Talking to Apollo is enough to make anyone crabby.”

“He doesn’t understand why you hate the Liberator so much.” Grantaire’s expression didn’t change and Combeferre sighed. “Grantaire, you’re going to have to tell him eventually.”

“Am not,” Grantaire said petulantly. “And I thought you were perfectly fine keeping your best friend in the dark. If you’ve changed your mind…”

Combeferre shook his head. “It’s not about me,” he said, a touch impatiently. “It’s about the fact that you’re keeping a huge secret from the guy that you purport to have feelings for.” He shrugged and drained his cup of tea. “I’m perfectly happy keeping Enjolras in the dark because I’m frankly not keen on putting him as an agent of the court in the position of knowing that we’re committing felonies, even if they’re felonies he would support. Besides…” He trailed off and shrugged. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

“You’re right,” Grantaire said, sitting up and ruffling his hair. “It’s not your secret. And it’s not your problem.” He stood and walked over to the wall, pressing a button and watching impassively as a panel slid back, revealing a dark blue suit of body armor emblazoned with a silver “L” across the chest and three stars on either shoulder. He picked up a small silver shield with the words _Unus ex eis sum_  written across it and inspected it for any dings or dirt. “Is Le Cabuc still at that bar?”

For a moment, Combeferre just looked at him, clearly wanting to say more, but then he shook his head and turned back to the computer. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take it you’re going after him?”

The question was probably unnecessary, as Grantaire was already strapping himself into the body armor. “He was accused of killing a man in cold blood, and your search indicated he’s probably guilty of killing at least two kids.” He paused in the middle of pulling his gauntlet on. “He laughed about it,” he said quietly. “After the trial. He laughed about murdering three people and getting away with it.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it,” he started cautiously, “but honestly, I’m worried about you. You need to make sure that what you’re doing isn’t taking a toll on your soul.”

“That would require me to believe that I have a soul to be worried about,” Grantaire said before putting his helmet on, making sure that only his mouth was visible. “Besides, it’s not me doing this. It’s the Liberator.”

With that, he was gone, slipping out into the night, and Combeferre sighed, turning back to his computer to track Grantaire’s movements. “Just because you choose to believe you don’t have a soul doesn’t make it true,” he muttered, putting on his headset and cracking his knuckles before getting down to work.

* * *

Grantaire stared dully ahead, his eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, nursing the largest cup of coffee that the café offered. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice when Enjolras slid into the seat across from him until he spoke. “Did you hear?” Enjolras asked, practically jubilant. “The Liberator took Le Cabuc down.”

It took a moment for Grantaire to realize what he was talking about. “Oh, really?” he asked, a little listlessly.

Enjolras frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Nothing,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” He took a large gulp of coffee before asking Enjolras, “So why aren’t you at work right now?”

“I took the day off,” Enjolras said, still frowning at Grantaire. “There’s a rally downtown to protest another round of cuts to social service agencies, and you know I wouldn’t miss that. Besides, I could ask you the same thing -- why aren’t you at work?”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Well, there’s no court cases on the docket today, so not exactly anything for me to draw. I was thinking of heading to the park, doing some sketches, whatever.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply when the barista called, “Double red-eye for Enjolras!”

He stood, hovering awkwardly for a moment before telling Grantaire, “Maybe I’ll see you at the rally, if you decide against the park.”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire said, watching Enjolras leave, coffee. “Maybe you will.”

* * *

“Social services save lives!” Enjolras shouted, his fist raised in the air. His shout was matched by hundreds of similar slogans bellowed throughout the square, and his blood seemed to thrum with the very exhilaration of seeing so many people come together to fight for the same cause. “Safe communities start with social safety nets!”

Another shout rang out, not too far from Enjolras, but this one was far from the message the rally was trying to spread. “Waste of money!” one guy shouted, as another called, “Fuck socialist propaganda!”

Enjolras moved quickly towards the source of the shouting, ready and willing to convince any counter-protesters that it would be in their best interest to get out while they still could. But before he could get there, one of the protesters threw down his sign and pushed one of the counter-protesters.

And that was when things got ugly.

Pushing and shouting erupted all around Enjolras, who found himself face-to-face with a massive guy sporting a swastika tattoo on his neck, and Enjolras had only just managed to push him out of the way when, without warning, gunshots rang out.

People screamed and scattered, panic spreading throughout the rally. Enjolras turned, eager to get to safety -- and eager to avoid police entanglement if possible, knowing that another mark on his record would not look good to the DA -- and almost ran right into the guy still brandishing his weapon. “Oh, shit,” Enjolras said, backing up slowly.

“You!” the guy half-snarled, pointing the gun at Enjolras. “Aren’t you that prosecutor who tried to send me to jail?”

Enjolras held up his hands placatingly, but his mouth never did know when to stop. “For possession of an illegal firearm, if memory serves, and it looks like you’re really living up to the charge, Brujon.”

The gunman, Brujon, sneered. “Good thing you can’t charge me if you’re dead, bitch.”

He was just about to pull the trigger when out of nowhere, a gloved fist smashed into his face. Enjolras’s eyes widened as the masked face of the Liberator turned to him, something almost familiar in the set of his jaw. Wordlessly, The Liberator grabbed Enjolras around the waist with one arm while aiming a grappling hook gun with the other one and firing.

When Enjolras later told the story, he conspicuously left out the part where he screamed and threw his arms around the Liberator’s neck as they flew through the air. He also left out how he was pretty sure, for just a moment, that the Liberator was laughing at him.

Only when they were safely up on a roof, far above the chaos below, did Enjolras let go of his grip on the Liberator’s neck. “Are you alright?” the Liberator asked, taking a step back from Enjolras, who couldn’t stop looking at him, drinking him in eagerly as if he was a dream that Enjolras might wake up from.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras says, smiling almost shyly at him. “Thanks to you.” The Liberator nodded and turned to leave. “Wait,” Enjolras said, reaching out to grab his arm. “Where are you going?”

The Liberator half-turned. “Someone needs to make sure Brujon doesn’t get away. And there are innocent people still in danger.”

Enjolras smiled slightly. “Well, I can’t argue with that, but before you go, I want to tell you something.” He bit his lip, feeling close to tongue-tied, which was a rare experience for him. “I’ve always admired what you do, and, well, I have friends with far more principles than I’ve ever claimed to have, but I know that death is sometimes a necessity.”

“Maybe,” the Liberator said quietly, “but I think of it more as a duty.”

He hefted his shield and Enjolras looked at it, frowning slightly. “What does your shield mean?” he asked.

The Liberator seemed surprised by the question. “I am one of them,” he said. “It’s Latin.”

“No, I know that,” Enjolras said, blushing slightly. “I mean -- one of who?”

For a long moment, the Liberator just looked at him. Though his mask hid most of his face, Enjolras got the feeling that he was debating over how to answer. Finally, the Liberator said softly, “One of the people I’m trying to save.” 

Enjolras didn’t know what to say to that, so he settled for blurting, “You’re a hero.”

The Liberator just shook his head. “I’m no hero.”

“To me, you are,” Enjolras said simply. “I believe in you.”

Without warning or preamble, the Liberator crossed over to Enjolras and kissed him, his gloved hand warm against Enjolras’s cheek. Enjolras was surprised for a moment, but then kissed him back, surprised by the passion he felt from a man he had just met.

Then, equally abrupt, the Liberator turned away, leaping off of the roof, using his grappling hook to swing back down toward the rally. Enjolras watched him go, his cheeks tinged pink and a slow smile spreading across his face.

* * *

“Honey, I’m home,” Grantaire croaked, no humor in his voice as he dragged himself across the living room to practically collapse onto the couch. He was bleeding on his arm from a switchblade that had managed to find a weak spot in his body armor, and he could feel the bruises blossoming across his torso and back. 

“Are you alright?” Combeferre asked mildly from his computer chair. “Do you need me to call Joly?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Grantaire groaned.

Combeferre took a sip of tea and watched as Grantaire slowly began to remove his body armor, wincing with every piece that he took off. “You don’t seem fine,” Combeferre said. 

Grantaire shrugged, examining the cut on his arm. “It’s only some bruises.” he said, not looking up at Combeferre as he said it. “I don’t even think this’ll need stitches.” Now he did manage to look up at Combeferre, smiling with a ghost of his usual grin. “Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

“I didn’t just mean physically,” Combeferre said evenly, tapping a finger against his cellphone. “I meant this text that I got from Enjolras.”

Suddenly, Grantaire couldn’t seem to meet Combeferre’s eyes. “I’m not a mind reader,” he muttered. “I don’t know what the text says.”

“It says that Enjolras met the Liberator,” Combeferre told him. “It also says that Enjolras thinks he might be a little bit in love with him.” Grantaire still didn’t look up at Combeferre, who sighed heavily. “What did you do?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “Something I’ve always wanted to do,” he said quietly, staring straight ahead and replaying that moment on the rooftop, a moment he would hold onto as long as he lived. “And something I never should have done.”


End file.
